We Are Both Timelords
by Omeega
Summary: Trapped in a prison, the Master is surprised when the Doctor appears to rescue him - even though it is under the guise of taking him back to Gallifrey. On the way, however, the TARDIS ends up stranded in a swampy wasteland and they are forced to deal with one another until the Doctor can make the necessary repairs... which aren't necessarily as effective as the Doctor expected.
1. This Isn't Justice

There was a ruckus outside the cell. He couldn't move.

Lying in the muddled straw and dirt that covered the stone floor, The Master kept his head down, not looking up or opening his eyes. He stayed still, his breathing low, his chest concealing his steadily increasing heart rate that was now pulsing at the rate of war drums. His graying black hair had lost its usual slick, controlled look, a few clumps loosened by time and dirt falling down into his eyes and above his ears.

Much of his body was worn out from fighting the guards off and refusing to eat or drink anything they gave him. Sometimes they'd gotten the better of him and forced it down his throat, but he'd been rather strong so far. This, however, assured him of one fact… they were working to keep him alive. Something kept the guards checking on him. But what was it?

The last good thing was his hearing, thankfully, so he could catch much of what they said outside of his cell. They didn't say much, being quiet folks, but they would often mention that they were waiting for someone. This, of course, explained the commotion over there right now. What it did _not_ explain was _who_ they had been waiting for.

After listening for a moment, an unfortunately quite recognizable voice met his ears.

"Well, yes, of course, I understand, dear chap, but I still would like to see him, right away, I should think. Yes, thank you, how nice of you to oblige."

The Master curled up into himself, pressing his dry, pale lips into as nasty of a frown as he could currently muster. It was The Doctor, of all people. What brought _him_ here? There was no way this could possibly end well. Closing his eyes tighter, The Master summoned up as comforting of thoughts as he could.

_Maybe he isn't here for __me__. Maybe he doesn't even know I'm here. There's another cell across from mine. Perhaps there's someone in there he's come to see. Why should he know I'm here, much less come for me? Besides, the chances are slim to none that he could negotiate with the filthy tyrant of this miserable place. No, he can't have managed anything. His words are bigger than he is; he could be just as much of a prisoner as I am._

Well, that was the best he could do, for now.

The rattle of the lock and the grinding squeal of the iron door disagreed with his thoughts. Protesting with nervousness that burned at the back of his throat, his stomach twisted so that it felt like it was trying to strangle itself with his intestines, his hearts pounding like they were trying to break his ribs into bone shard knives to pierce themselves with. Starvation and thirst had driven his body to do mad things, all meant for self-preservation, all succeeding in nothing besides providing suffering.

With these morbid thoughts of pain, he opened his eyes to greet The Doctor, who was now kneeling down beside him.

The tall, lanky man bent over him, and The Master could only stare up with dark eyes half-open, taking in the sight of The Doctor's ridiculous pink frock as it poked through the collar of his maroon jacket. A slender hand, protected by a black glove, reached forwards and gingerly swept some of The Master's hair away from his stinging eyes, what he recognized as cool leather sliding across his sweaty forehead. The ruffled cuff of The Doctor's shirt brushed against his shoulder, and the electrifying smoothness of velvet from the jacket just barely skimmed across behind it, making The Master shiver slightly and close his eyes.

The guard said something gruffly, making The Master open his eyes and look up as The Doctor's hand recoiled to shoo the guard off.

"No, no, it's quite alright, my boy," he assured the guard, the deep hum of his voice calming The Master slightly – though he adamantly refused to admit it to himself. The Doctor's face hidden to him, all that The Master could currently see – aside from the by-now too familiar cell walls – was the back of The Doctor's head, covered with cream-white curls that were paler and longer than the last time they'd seen each other. When was that again? He wasn't sure he could remember. "Do give us a moment, will you? Thank you, my boy." The Doctor turned back around as the guard left, his familiar face coming into view as he leaned down towards The Master. Craterous laugh lines surrounding his large, prominent nose like a moat to house the tears of pain, sadness, and joy that had spilled from his large green eyes in the five hundred years he'd been alive. It was actually a bit marvelous, how well this current form could reflect the burdens and memories of his previous bodies. "Getting a moment of peace around here is rather rare, I see."

The Master sighed, and it was all he could manage to convey. It was a true statement, true enough, but speaking was completely beyond his abilities at the moment.

He thought he could remember now when the last time he'd seen The Doctor was. It had been when the rascal had manipulated The Master's own device against him, scattering his Ogron mercenaries and driving him to panic. He seemed to recall The Doctor getting shot – and he couldn't say he was too grieved by that outcome, he'd been given quite a fright – and falling to the ground, Jo Grant by his side.

Where _was_ the dear Miss Grant now? The Doctor appeared to be alone, but his current state was often deceiving. Perhaps she had not been allowed down to the dungeon. Perhaps she was with the king. That might have been something to appease the tyrant. That would explain The Doctor ordering the guards around like he belonged there. He would have the authority of an over-confident king who had even gotten the best of The Master himself… that was quite an authority.

"Let's see then…" The Doctor moved closer, reaching over to slide a hand around the back of The Master's neck, sending another surge of electricity that made him wince quietly. "Sorry, old chap, I'm trying to be gentle with you." The Master glared as his head rested back against The Doctor's thigh, the only immediate response being a cocky smile. He was too weak to protest being moved, so he laid there limply as The Doctor shifted uncomfortably behind his head, but he was able to muster another distasteful frown.

"Look at you, dear chap," The Doctor lamented, his voice weighed down like a hot air balloon that had mistakenly taken on too many passengers and could barely lift off of the ground. "I'm told you won't eat, you won't drink… good grief, I can hardly stand you being so complacent." His tone had risen slightly, as if chastising The Master for his carelessness. The Master only listened, his gaze softening as he stared at the cell wall. The Doctor moved around a bit, producing a small silver canteen and removing the cap carefully, reaching around The Master's head to do so, holding it up over him. "Here, my friend, this ought to give you back your spark. Just drink what you can, it'll do you wonders, no matter how much you can stomach."

The cold metal spout was pressed to his lips, but The Master made not a move to part his lips. He stared blankly forward, every possible argument bubbling up in the angry acid of his stomach even though he couldn't manage even a simply and adamant "no". His mouth was rather sealed shut by how dry and sticky it was, his throat hot and irritated, preventing any proper protest on his part. So, he simply sat there, working up the power to at least say something… eventually. In the meanwhile, he waited for The Doctor to either give up or explain himself… or perhaps both. He supposed he could spare the time for both right now.

"My god, man, will you stop being so proud? I'm trying to _help you_. Don't you understand that? Are you even listening?" The Doctor seemed to be growing steadily more frazzled… dismayed… He was clearly upset by the state The Master had allowed himself to fall into, and it was steadily chipping away at his patience, leaving him with his childish impertinence.

_Let him get frustrated,_ The Master thought, feeling his frown ease a bit with his amusement. _He'll either leave sooner or at least provide a bit of fun for me._

But, deep inside, he could admit that he was a bit pleased with The Doctor's closeness, and it surpassed his sadistic desire to make the other man look like a fool. It was a bit endearing, hearing the maternal sighs and complaints of someone who was striving – though for some unknown purpose – to care for him when he refused to be cared for. There was a certain comfort to being drawn close to someone else, a former friend at that. Not a word of it would grace his lips, of course, even when he _could_ speak. But, locked in the confines of his mind, he could admit that he felt a bit safer with The Doctor's arms around him, that loud nasal voice ranting about taking his medicine, the warmth of the other man's thigh easing the muscles of his neck that were so strained from being curled up on the stone floor for… well, he wasn't even sure how long…

Yes, perhaps it was alright. Perhaps he enjoyed it. But The Doctor couldn't know that.

"You are a stubborn, _foolish_ man," The Doctor hissed darkly, closing the canteen and setting it aside. "Later, then. I just hope I can buy us enough time for you to change your mind."

Shifting again, The Doctor held his hands over The Master as he carefully removed each of his gloves, laying them out of sight. Moving so that The Master's head rested against the crook of his right knee, so he could now see into his face clearly, he peered down at his weakened friend-turned-foe, his right hand sliding up from his knee to rest his palm – which was just a bit sweaty from the confines of the leather glove – against The Master's clammy cheek.

"You won't last long like this, you know," he sighed, speaking softly, almost hopelessly.

_I know,_ he thought, slowly shifting his gaze to meet The Doctor's eyes. _But what else can I do? You wouldn't simply give in, not even you. Perhaps _**_you_**_ could talk your way out, but they'll have none of me even saying a word. Now… now I can't. How long have I even been here, Doctor. What would _**_you_**_ do? I am out of options. I can't admit defeat now… There's no way out…_

Given no tangible response, The Doctor sighed, brushing his thumb across The Master's cheek gently – which made his chest tense – and staring down at the man with a sorrowful frown.

"I'll get you out of here," he whispered, conspiratorially, the edge of his lips distracting The Master's gaze as it twitched up into a half-smile. "You'll see," he assured him, gently, "I'll get you well again."

Swallowing, agonizing as it was, The Master forced out the only word he could think to summarize as much of his thoughts as possible:

"Why?"

His voice was hoarse and cracked under the pressure of a single word, a scaly, shredding pain echoing up his throat. Staring hard into The Doctor's face, he saw the man's expression soften.

"Why not?" he said, quietly. The Master only narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The Doctor shrugged and tried again. "Everyone deserves justice, even you. Rotting in a dungeon isn't justice. You deserve a proper trial, a chance to redeem yourself. I only want to give you that."

The Master watched him as even as he could, with how his eyes were burning.

"And?" he choked.

The Doctor sighed, slipping his thumb along The Master's cheekbone and down his jaw, leaving a trail of warmth behind his careful touch.

"Well, maybe there _is_ more," The Doctor admitted, seeming a bit inconvenienced by sharing this bit of information. He paused, apparently deciding against voicing the truth. "But that's not for now," he muttered, leaning over to look into The Master's eyes again, sending him a mischievous wink and smile, giving his cheek a playful pat. "Now, drink this for me, and I promise I'll explain more to you next time. How's that?"

The Master looked away, pressing his lips into a tight frown. "…Next…?" He couldn't finish it.

The Doctor chuckled, leaning back. "Yes, next time. I'll be back. That much, you can count on." He paused a moment. "So, I promise to come back if you'll do as I ask. Is that a deal?" Picking up the canteen again, he opened it and held it in front of The Master's face again.

Begrudgingly, The Master nodded just slightly, which was more work than he'd thought it would be. The Doctor let out a haughty "ha!" and shoving the spout of the canteen into The Master's mouth and working him through slowly downing the thick liquid. The Master made a face to match his disgust with the medicine, but inwardly acknowledging that it was already helping soothe his throat. The Doctor hummed happily with his victory, surprising The Master a bit by rubbing his shoulders for a few short moments before scooting back and getting to his feet.

Was that a feeling of disappointment growing in his stomach? If it was, he pushed it aside.

Brushing off his pants and suit a bit, The Doctor pivoted as he reached the door and the guard approached, sending back a sly wink as the silver canteen disappeared into his pocket. He mouthed "_I'll be back_" dramatically and departed quickly, chatting up the guard with what seemed to be more fervor than before.

_Alright, you win this round,_ The Master thought, smiling slowly. _But you still have yet to reveal what you're up to. And I'm sure the king will be slow to part with a prisoner. Even under _**_your_**_ influence._

Doing his best to slide into his corner again, out of sight of the doorway, The Master curled up into himself again, closing his eyes softly. The liquid was spreading a warmth through his entire body in a calming, numb sensation. It was likely something of The Doctor's own creation. It felt like the effect he had on most people.

Perhaps he had more of a chance of persuading the king than The Master had originally obliged to give him credit for… he would have to wait and see.


	2. Carefully Planned, Was It?

The Master had been lying still on the floor of his cell, silent, for some time. Staring up at the nasty ceiling, he was still recovering from the dizziness of attempting to walk around earlier. Unfortunately, while the Doctor's medicine had helped, it wasn't quite enough to get him back on his feet. But another dose would likely do the trick. It seemed to help him recover the strength that had been steadily been leaking from his body. Yes, it had even made him unopposed to taking food from the guards, and he had been in a bit of a good mood – and, by that, he meant he hadn't tried to strangle the guard that had come in to check on him earlier.

Well, that was simply the way he worked.

Another small point of consolation he'd managed had been fished up from the straw after the Doctor had left from his little visit. The Master now had them up on his chest, his hands laying calmly on his stomach. The Doctor had forgotten his stylish leather gloves. Slowly smiling, the Master slid his hand up to just barely brush his thumb against the cool fabric, closing his eyes lightly. He'd regarded the old chap with plenty of suspicion before, but now he could quietly appreciate the fact that he'd come at all.

There was still the fact that the Doctor had yet to explain what he'd really come for. Yes, he'd said "justice", but it was quite obviously something less heroic. But the Master preferred to stifle any thoughts that the Doctor had come purely out of concern for his safety... that he'd come purely as a rescue, and not for any particular purpose... Of course not. That would be an impossible thought, even for the misguided ideals of the Doctor. They had long been enemies, despite the Doctor's attempts to keep him alive. The Master had long ago found that hope lost its tempting flicker when it came to depending upon the Doctor's idea of what was right.

The sound of feet scuffling down the hall made him look up at the door, though he was still absentmindedly stroking the Doctor's glove. The guards started muttering to themselves darkly, and the Master could make out that they were mentioning a "change" in their orders, and "that old, chatty fellow". One, who stood directly outside of the Master's cell often, reassured the other that their king had it under control, and that since their "honored guest" was an "older man" then he wouldn't be likely to try anything "inappropriate".

Chuckling lightly to himself, the Master slowly smiled. So the Doctor was up to something, was he?

A few of the farther guards bellowed down the corridor, causing those posted outside of his door to bolt away, an alarm of metal armor clashing against every wall and echoing into every corner of his cell. He smirked, just listening to the sound of their retreating footsteps.

_Break in or break out, I wonder? Is he distracting them by freeing other prisoners? Or is he simply just making his way down here another way? His little schemes tend to be rather straightforward._

In preparation, the Master glanced around the cell. Well, he hadn't hidden anything important in here. Glancing down, he tucked the Doctor's gloves away, one into each of the pockets in the dirty canvas pants he wore, pulling down the torn formerly-white tunic they'd slapped on him upon arrival. He couldn't say he'd appreciated being dressed so atrociously... it was meant to be too bright and it was absolutely filthy now, in addition to being altogether too big for him.

He could only hope the Doctor would have something else for him to wear.

Smiling to himself, he thought about that. Here he was, sitting like here like a schoolboy waiting for his mother to come and pick him up. Just the thought of himself in such a position made him laugh to himself, trying to pull himself to his feet using the cracks in the wall.

Scampering feet skidded to a stop in front of his cell, and the door opened with a clang, revealing a slightly breathless Doctor, who paused to smile rather giddily at the Master. Gesturing to a set of skeleton keys, he put one hand on his hip. He seemed to pause to give the teetering Master a once-over, his smile twitching before he shook his head.

"Well then, look at who is up and ready to strut again," he crowed. "I see taking your medicine helped."

The Master only nodded, swallowing and trying to catch his breath before taking a few tentative steps.

"Oh, since we have a moment, we should get my gloves," he commented dryly, turning to look around the cell. The Master tensed, putting an unsteady hand on the Doctor's shoulder, making the other man pause and slowly meet his gaze.

"They're only gloves," he groaned, shaking his head. "Let's go."

The Doctor's eyes slowly scanned him, his smile returning. "Oh, you don't want me to have them?" Putting both of his hands on his hips, the Doctor sent him a steady maternal glare. "Do _you_ have them, or do they?"

The Master bit the inside of his cheek, staring at the Doctor. "We don't have time for this."

Laughing, the Doctor threw his hands up. "I hope _you_ have them, because you'll be the one that's sorry later if you don't," he boasted, hooking his arm behind the Master, sliding his hand across the man's back as he helped brace him before helping him walk forwards. "Alright then, if you're in such a hurry, let's go then, old chap."

Yanking the Master behind him, the Doctor made a break for a large set of stone steps at the end of the hall, the unconscious forms of soldiers scattered along their path. Scrambling up the stairs, chastising the Master for each stumble, the Doctor turned far too quickly around a corner at the top and let out a victorious cry. Wasn't the Doctor being very loud for trying to escape? Though he wasn't much of one for secrecy today, apparently, and assumed he could overpower any guard who could come along.

"Ah, there she is! My good fellow, we're almost there. Come now!"

For a moment, the Master actually found himself hoping for the sweet smile and sanity of Jo Grant. But no, of course, it was the Doctor's beloved TARDIS, still a ridiculous looking blue police box. The Master rolled his eyes as they stopped in front of it, and the Doctor got busy unlocking it, glancing back at hollers from down the corridor.

"And just where are we going?" the Master asked while he had a moment, leaning unsteadily against the side of the TARDIS. "What is your _plan_?"

"I thought I already told you," the Doctor complained, turning and sending him a glare. "But, for right now, _I_ have a few loose ends to tie up, so _you_, will wait here." Before the Master could verbalize a protest, he was shoved unceremoniously into the TARDIS. "Oh, _do_ stop your complaining, I'll be right back, you ninny," the Doctor snapped as he shut the door and locked it tight.

The Master frowned. "Couldn't leave if I wanted to, your blasted machine is completely uncooperative," he hissed at the closed door, trying to pull himself into a sitting position.

_What is he up to? He has to know that I'm far too weak still to put up with his mad schemes, all this spinning and pulling and pushing... What a child. I daresay I'll still be within a pace or two of the door when he returns, should he not be gone longer than he intends to be. Still... when do things go quite as he plans? I suppose I can depend on that._

Taking in a slow breath, the Master reached into his pocket to touch the Doctor's glove with his fingertips, thinking for a moment. The calm of the memory it brought back helped soothe the pounding in his head – as much as it could be soothed. He could wait here for the Doctor to return... or take his chances piloting this mad TARDIS.

No, he couldn't trust it to go anywhere he wanted it to. Likely, he would end up in a worse spot.

He wished he had his own TARDIS back. The king had taken it too, along with his key and everything else. It was likely that the fat, nasty creature had it in his own pocket, holding onto it with the arrogant, filthy pleasure that he'd overcome a Timelord. Well, that hadn't lasted long, had it? And he'd be back to squash the pathetic tyrant... someday. But he still hated the idea of leaving his TARDIS behind... not that it was quite useful without the key, of course, but having it would be better than nothing.

His stomach twisted into knots again. His TARDIS had been his freedom for so long... The Doctor, of all people, should have understood that. But, of course, there was also the misguided sense of justice that the Doctor had. That got in the way so often.

Sighing heavily, the Master pulled himself up and stumbled towards the console, looking up with surprise to the sight of his TARDIS, tucked away in a corner. Desperately, he moved too quick and fell. So, grumbling the whole way, he crawled to it, sitting beside and leaning back against it. Pausing to breathe, he didn't dare think of trying to open the door – it was definitely locked, and the key was far from his possession.

_How did the Doctor get this inside? Perhaps... perhaps he understands how much I need it more than I gave him credit for... This fellow consistently confuses me more every time we come across each other._

He fully intended to cash in on the Doctor's promise to explain his intentions further, which ruled out any plans to try and escape. Besides, his TARDIS was here. At the very least, he had to keep an eye on it now. Laying his head against the cold, comforting metal behind him, the Master closed his eyes slowly, taking out one of the Doctor's gloves and setting it on his stomach, stroking the leather with his thumb as a heavy wave of fatigue threatened to take him over. His eyes fluttered, trying to stay awake.

"Ah-ha!"

The Doctor's voice woke him with a start, and he realized he'd lost in his battle for consciousness. Opening his eyes, he felt his stomach churning as he saw the Doctor was standing over him. In his surprise, the glove was snatched away from him, though he reached up after it desperately.

"So, you _did_ have them." The Doctor held up the glove victoriously, raising an eyebrow haughtily.

The Master frowned, reaching into his other pocket and holding onto the glove he still had protectively. "I never said I _didn't_," he hissed, "I only said we had no time to quarrel about them."

Chuckling, the Doctor reached inside the glove, pausing for a moment and producing a tiny key. The Master's eyes widened. His TARDIS key... He'd had it all this time? He hadn't realized he was in such a ridiculous state. Frowning, he tensed the hand holding the other glove into a tight fist.

He could've escaped in his TARDIS and the Doctor would've been unable to stop him.

"Well then, didn't I say _you_ would be the one sorry if we didn't get them?" the Doctor chuckled, leaning over him, winking. The Master curled up into himself, pulling his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. "Oh, don't be a child about it." The Master made no response, staring at the floor in disappointment of missing his chance for escape. "What _is_ the matter with you?"

"You know full well," he grumbled. "I could have had my freedom back."

There was a pause, then the Doctor came to sit next to him. "Did you seriously consider piloting your TARDIS in your current state?" he said, his voice softening. The Master half-glanced over and saw the Doctor smiling at him, calm and knowing, so he responded only with a dark frown. "Come now. You're as safe with me as you can be."

The Master turned his head slowly to look at the Doctor. The unbelieving expression on his face slowly broke into a smile as the Doctor laughed. "Safe? With _you_?" he muttered, his shoulders easing a bit. "Doctor, even _you_ aren't safe with you. I'm surprised you're still _alive_."

"Well, I will admit," the Doctor replied, nudging the Master with his elbow, "My luck has been given a run for its money." The silence was like a pointed gesture, and the Master only shrugged slightly, still smiling. "But yes, it is a bit surprising, isn't it? It's been difficult. But worth it. I've much left to see."

"And where do _I_ fit in there?" the Master asked, quietly, looking back at the Doctor, who was staring at the floor darkly. "You _did_ promise, Doctor."

Slowly smiling again, the Doctor looked up. "I did, didn't I? To get you to take your medicine, you naughty patient, that's right," he said, nudging the Master with his elbow again as they both smiled. "True, I did promise." He leaned over, resting his head on the Master's shoulder. The Master felt his back tense, and his eyes widen slightly. "I suppose I was just worried about you."

There was a silence, and the Doctor sat up. The Master glanced over, looking back into the Doctor's eyes. "Were you, now?" The only response was a curt nod, and the Master chuckled. "You're pathetic."

The Doctor scoffed, twisting to take the Master's face in his hands. "I could slap you."

The Master froze, slowly raising an eyebrow. "W-what?"

Giving the Master's cheek a few playful pats, the Doctor got to his feet, leaning over the control console. "We're right on schedule to arrive on Gallifrey, so perhaps someone else will do that for me."

Letting out the breath he'd been holding in, the Master only shook his head. "I won't go there."

"Oh, yes, you _will_," the Doctor commented without looking back, turning a few knobs and flipping a few levers. "I don't suppose you really have a choice. I mean..." He turned, putting his hands on his hips and twisting his lips into an unconvinced line. "Look at you." The Master was about to interrupt before the Doctor bounced slightly, snapping his fingers loudly. "Ah! That's right!" Searching his pockets for a moment, the Doctor produced the small silver canteen again, kneeling in front of the Master again and holding it out. The Master slowly took it, eyeing the Doctor suspiciously. Sending him a smile and reaching over to tug on a loose strand of the other man's hair, the Doctor stood upright again, moving back to the console and checking a few things.

Taking a slow drink of the cool liquid, the Master kept his eyes locked on the Doctor. There was something about the calm the Doctor always seem to exude.. the care-free childishness, the knowing smiles, the happy little "pip-pip"s and "come along, old chap"s. He just didn't understand.

"How did you know I was here?" he questioned, tensing with confusion. "How long did you know?"

The Doctor only shrugged. "I was told, and not _so_ long ago, just long enough to plan an escape." He glanced back with a wink. "Does that answer your questions?" The Master shifted, not satisfied, taking a long drink to finish off the medicine. "Relax and get ready to land, old chap. We should be there in-"

The TARDIS suddenly shifted, throwing the Doctor off-balance. At first, he hung tight to the control console, but another shift was enough to throw him to the floor. He slid into the wall, his head hitting it with a smack as he fell to the floor. The Master felt a shrill feeling like electricity shoot up his spine, and he jumped over to lean over the Doctor, his head resting against the other man's chest as he looked around protectively. Swallowing, he looked at the dazed and muttering Doctor, then at the console, then took the Doctor's face in his hands.

"Are you alright?" he demanded, breathlessly.

"Wh-why..." The Doctor blinked. "Y-yes... " He shook his head. "That ... shouldn't have happened..."

The Master took in a sharp breath and forced himself to his feet, checking the console, circling it shakily. His knees threatened to give way, but he tried to stabilize the TARDIS. He turned back. "Doctor, we've landed... somewhere.." He went over to the Doctor, who was lying still. "... Doctor?"


	3. The Doctor's Journal - Entry One

I believe this needs to be separate from the general diary of my travels, though that one is certainly more full by now than I thought it would be. So much can change over the course of one regeneration, can't it? It's all been quite exciting. Perhaps a bit frightening at first, but nothing I couldn't handle. Life always does have a way of surprising me, and the course of time is a confusing and thrilling one. I do mean it.

Today, I can say was just one more bump in the road. Yes, just another bump in the road.

So far as I was concerned, up til the TARDIS went a bit off-course, everything was under control. Finally, I'd managed to get the Master — and his TARDIS, though separately — inside and we were making for Gallifrey. All was well, by way of the law, and though he was quite a bit less than content, I had his TARDIS key stashed away safely and he was as much under control as he would be.

Then we landed and… I'm not sure, the TARDIS put us in some sort of wasteland, and the landing wasn't all that fantastic either. A good deal of my poor TARDIS was wrecked and she'll take quite a while to nurse back to health. She's acting up, seeming rather dissatisfied with her whereabouts. So that means we're stuck here, unfortunately, until I can repair her. The Master has offered to help me. Ha! As if he'll ever get his hands on her bits and wires. I wouldn't even trust him with the sonic unless my life depended on it.

No, this place seems quite desolate. We may be stranded but we don't seem to be in any sort of real danger. Upon initial inspection, we're on a sort of island, surrounded by treacherous swamps. What's that phrase? For better or for worse. Quite a useful phrase. Yes, quite useful indeed. Well, the short end of it is that, despite disliking being in my care, the Master isn't desperate nor stupid enough to try braving that nasty mess, and certainly not enough to tamper with the TARDIS, for fear she backfires and we end up in the middle of that bog.

I'm quite impressed, actually. She managed to get us a rather safe location in this mess of a place, so that much was a blessing.

As a counter offer to helping me with the repairs, the Master has also suggested that we use his TARDIS. Ridiculous! Even if we could get his TARDIS out on its own, which I doubt, that would still be assuming he won't simply use it to run off. I won't trust him with that for a moment. Not a moment!

It does… it does hurt sometimes, I've found… that I must mistrust him so. Not to say he hasn't given me plenty of reasons to do so, but still… there is, somewhere behind his crazy schemes, the boy who I grew up with, who was less destructive and more simply just… a genius.

I grow weary of his mad games, and worry that I'll never see that boy again. He's… he's changed. So much I fear he'll never be himself again.

Something he's said to me many times has struck me as odd today.

His third attempt at freedom was trying to simply convince me to give him back his TARDIS key, for ridiculous reasons I forget. I do remember completely objecting and refusing to even pay attention to him after some time. In his continued shock and dismay that I don't agree to partake in his schemes — as I am far beyond used to their ridiculousness, as well as many of his other odd idiosyncracies — he loudly exclaimed "We are both Timelords!"

Why does he say that repeatedly, and with such emphasis? I don't understand. I know very well that we are both Timelords. I'm not quite sure what he means to prove. Commradery and a bond of common heritage doesn't seem to faze him when he's trying to destroy my entire existence.

I'm not even sure why it struck me so much at the time, nor why it continues to grate on me.

I do remember pausing and just looking at him, asking him what he meant by that. He looked entirely caught off-guard, backing up a bit, seeming surprised at the suspicion, fumbling over his words. It's not really like him, and it concerns me. He was… nervous, almost. Isn't that a bit strange? Or perhaps quite strange.

The method behind his madness evades me. He's such… such an odd man. That much I must admit. There's just small traces of his old ways that sneak through his new persona, his crazy schemes, his emblazoned need to control or destroy every form of life he comes across.

The less I can trust him, the more I long for my friend again. If only we could have that again.

Perhaps, being so marooned will give him a chance to cool off, stop his damned plotting long enough to realize that he still has the choice to turn away from his new life. To learn from his mistakes and be by my side without trying to stick a knife in my back.

I just hope I don't get him back just to lose him again.


	4. The Lab Rat and the Petulant Child

There was a ruckus outside the cell. He couldn't move.

Lying in the muddled straw and dirt that covered the stone floor, the Master kept his head down, not looking up or opening his eyes. He stayed still, his breathing low, his chest concealing his steadily increasing heart rate that was now pulsing at the rate of war drums. His graying black hair had lost its usual slick, controlled look, a few clumps loosened by time and dirt falling down into his eyes and above his ears.

Much of his body was worn out from fighting the guards off and refusing to eat or drink anything they gave him. Sometimes they'd gotten the better of him and forced it down his throat, but he'd been rather strong so far. This, however, assured him of one fact… they were working to keep him alive. Something kept the guards checking on him. But what was it?

The last good thing was his hearing, thankfully, so he could catch much of what they said outside of his cell. They didn't say much, being quiet folks, but they would often mention that they were waiting for someone. This, of course, explained the commotion over there right now. What it did _not_ explain was _who_ they had been waiting for.

After listening for a moment, an unfortunately quite recognizable voice met his ears.

"Well, yes, of course, I understand, dear chap, but I still would like to see him, right away, I should think. Yes, thank you, how nice of you to oblige."

The Master curled up into himself, pressing his dry, pale lips into as nasty of a frown as he could currently muster. It was the Doctor, of all people. What brought _him_ here? There was no way this could possibly end well. Closing his eyes tighter, the Master summoned up as comforting of thoughts as he could.

_Maybe he isn't here for me. Maybe he doesn't even know I'm here. There's another cell across from mine. Perhaps there's someone in there he's come to see. Why should he know I'm here, much less come for me? Besides, the chances are slim to none that he could negotiate with the filthy tyrant of this miserable place. No, he can't have managed anything. His words are bigger than he is; he could be just as much of a prisoner as I am._

Well, that was the best he could do, for now.

The rattle of the lock and the grinding squeal of the iron door disagreed with his thoughts. Protesting with nervousness that burned at the back of his throat, his stomach twisted so that it felt like it was trying to strangle itself with his intestines, his hearts pounding like they were trying to break his ribs into bone shard knives to pierce themselves with. Starvation and thirst had driven his body to do mad things, all meant for self-preservation, all succeeding in nothing besides providing suffering.

With these morbid thoughts of pain, he opened his eyes to greet the Doctor, who was now kneeling down beside him.

The tall, lanky man bent over him, and the Master could only stare up with dark eyes half-open, taking in the sight of the Doctor's ridiculous pink frock as it poked through the collar of his maroon jacket. A slender hand, protected by a black glove, reached forwards and gingerly swept some of the Master's hair away from his stinging eyes, what he recognized as cool leather sliding across his sweaty forehead. The ruffled cuff of the Doctor's shirt brushed against his shoulder, and the electrifying smoothness of velvet from the jacket just barely skimmed across behind it, making the Master shiver slightly and close his eyes.

The guard said something gruffly, making the Master open his eyes and look up as the Doctor's hand recoiled to shoo the guard off.

"No, no, it's quite alright, my boy," he assured the guard, the deep hum of his voice calming the Master slightly – though he adamantly refused to admit it to himself. The Doctor's face hidden to him, all that the Master could currently see – aside from the by-now too familiar cell walls – was the back of the Doctor's head, covered with cream-white curls that were paler and longer than the last time they'd seen each other. When was that again? He wasn't sure he could remember. "Do give us a moment, will you? Thank you, my boy." The Doctor turned back around as the guard left, his familiar face coming into view as he leaned down towards the Master. Craterous laugh lines surrounding his large, prominent nose like a moat to house the tears of pain, sadness, and joy that had spilled from his large green eyes in the five hundred years he'd been alive. It was actually a bit marvelous, how well this current form could reflect the burdens and memories of his previous bodies. "Getting a moment of peace around here is rather rare, I see."

The Master sighed, and it was all he could manage to convey. It was a true statement, true enough, but speaking was completely beyond his abilities at the moment.

He thought he could remember now when the last time he'd seen the Doctor was. It had been when the rascal had manipulated the Master's own device against him, scattering his Ogron mercenaries and driving him to panic. He seemed to recall the Doctor getting shot – and he couldn't say he was too grieved by that outcome, he'd been given quite a fright – and falling to the ground, Jo Grant by his side.

Where _was_ the dear Miss Grant now? The Doctor appeared to be alone, but his current state was often deceiving. Perhaps she had not been allowed down to the dungeon. Perhaps she was with the king. That might have been something to appease the tyrant. That would explain the Doctor ordering the guards around like he belonged there. He would have the authority of an over-confident king who had even gotten the best of the Master himself… that was quite an authority.

"Let's see then…" The Doctor moved closer, reaching over to slide a hand around the back of the Master's neck, sending another surge of electricity that made him wince quietly. "Sorry, old chap, I'm trying to be gentle with you." The Master glared as his head rested back against the Doctor's thigh, the only immediate response being a cocky smile. He was too weak to protest being moved, so he laid there limply as the Doctor shifted uncomfortably behind his head, but he was able to muster another distasteful frown.

"Look at you, dear chap," the Doctor lamented, his voice weighed down like a hot air balloon that had mistakenly taken on too many passengers and could barely lift off of the ground. "I'm told you won't eat, you won't drink… good grief, I can hardly stand you being so complacent." His tone had risen slightly, as if chastising the Master for his carelessness. The Master only listened, his gaze softening as he stared at the cell wall. The Doctor moved around a bit, producing a small silver canteen and removing the cap carefully, reaching around the Master's head to do so, holding it up over him. "Here, my friend, this ought to give you back your spark. Just drink what you can, it'll do you wonders, no matter how much you can stomach."

The cold metal spout was pressed to his lips, but the Master made not a move to part his lips. He stared blankly forward, every possible argument bubbling up in the angry acid of his stomach even though he couldn't manage even a simply and adamant "no". His mouth was rather sealed shut by how dry and sticky it was, his throat hot and irritated, preventing any proper protest on his part. So, he simply sat there, working up the power to at least say something… eventually. In the meanwhile, he waited for the Doctor to either give up or explain himself… or perhaps both. He supposed he could spare the time for both right now.

"My god, man, will you stop being so proud? I'm trying to _help you_. Don't you understand that? Are you even listening?" The Doctor seemed to be growing steadily more frazzled… dismayed… He was clearly upset by the state the Master had allowed himself to fall into, and it was steadily chipping away at his patience, leaving him with his childish impertinence.

_Let him get frustrated,_ the Master thought, feeling his frown ease a bit with his amusement. _He'll either leave sooner or at least provide a bit of fun for me._

But, deep inside, he could admit that he was a bit pleased with the Doctor's closeness, and it surpassed his sadistic desire to make the other man look like a fool. It was a bit endearing, hearing the maternal sighs and complaints of someone who was striving – though for some unknown purpose – to care for him when he refused to be cared for. There was a certain comfort to being drawn close to someone else, a former friend at that. Not a word of it would grace his lips, of course, even when he _could_ speak. But, locked in the confines of his mind, he could admit that he felt a bit safer with the Doctor's arms around him, that loud nasal voice ranting about taking his medicine, the warmth of the other man's thigh easing the muscles of his neck that were so strained from being curled up on the stone floor for… well, he wasn't even sure how long…

Yes, perhaps it was alright. Perhaps he enjoyed it. But the Doctor couldn't know that.

"You are a stubborn, _foolish_ man," the Doctor hissed darkly, closing the canteen and setting it aside. "Later, then. I just hope I can buy us enough time for you to change your mind."

Shifting again, the Doctor held his hands over the Master as he carefully removed each of his gloves, laying them out of sight. Moving so that the Master's head rested against the crook of his right knee, so he could now see into his face clearly, he peered down at his weakened friend-turned-foe, his right hand sliding up from his knee to rest his palm – which was just a bit sweaty from the confines of the leather glove – against the Master's clammy cheek.

"You won't last long like this, you know," he sighed, speaking softly, almost hopelessly.

_I know,_ he thought, slowly shifting his gaze to meet the Doctor's eyes. _But what else can I do? You wouldn't simply give in, not even you. Perhaps __**you**__ could talk your way out, but they'll have none of me even saying a word. Now… now I can't. How long have I even been here, Doctor. What would __**you**__ do? I am out of options. I can't admit defeat now… There's no way out…_

Given no tangible response, the Doctor sighed, brushing his thumb across the Master's cheek gently – which made his chest tense – and staring down at the man with a sorrowful frown.

"I'll get you out of here," he whispered, conspiratorially, the edge of his lips distracting the Master's gaze as it twitched up into a half-smile. "You'll see," he assured him, gently, "I'll get you well again."

Swallowing, agonizing as it was, the Master forced out the only word he could think to summarize as much of his thoughts as possible:

"Why?"

His voice was hoarse and cracked under the pressure of a single word, a scaly, shredding pain echoing up his throat. Staring hard into the Doctor's face, he saw the man's expression soften.

"Why not?" he said, quietly. The Master only narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The Doctor shrugged and tried again. "Everyone deserves justice, even you. Rotting in a dungeon isn't justice. You deserve a proper trial, a chance to redeem yourself. I only want to give you that."

The Master watched him as even as he could, with how his eyes were burning. "And?" he choked.

The Doctor sighed, slipping his thumb along the Master's cheekbone and down his jaw, leaving a trail of warmth behind his careful touch.

"Well, maybe there _is_ more," the Doctor admitted, seeming a bit inconvenienced by sharing this bit of information. He paused, apparently deciding against voicing the truth. "But that's not for now," he muttered, leaning over to look into the Master's eyes again, sending him a mischievous wink and smile, giving his cheek a playful pat. "Now, drink this for me, and I promise I'll explain more to you next time. How's that?"

The Master looked away, pressing his lips into a tight frown. "…Next…?" He couldn't finish it.

The Doctor chuckled, leaning back. "Yes, next time. I'll be back. That much, you can count on." He paused a moment. "So, I promise to come back if you'll do as I ask. Is that a deal?" Picking up the canteen again, he opened it and held it in front of the Master's face again.

Begrudgingly, the Master nodded just slightly, which was more work than he'd thought it would be. The Doctor let out a haughty "ha!" and shoving the spout of the canteen into the Master's mouth and working him through slowly downing the thick liquid. The Master made a face to match his disgust with the medicine, but inwardly acknowledging that it was already helping soothe his throat. The Doctor hummed happily with his victory, surprising the Master a bit by rubbing his shoulders for a few short moments before scooting back and getting to his feet.

Was that a feeling of disappointment growing in his stomach? If it was, he pushed it aside.

Brushing off his pants and suit a bit, the Doctor pivoted as he reached the door and the guard approached, sending back a sly wink as the silver canteen disappeared into his pocket. He mouthed "_I'll be back_" dramatically and departed quickly, chatting up the guard with what seemed to be more fervor than before.

_Alright, you win this round,_ the Master thought, smiling slowly. _But you still have yet to reveal what you're up to. And I'm sure the king will be slow to part with a prisoner. Even under __**your**__ influence._

Doing his best to slide into his corner again, out of sight of the doorway, the Master curled up into himself again, closing his eyes softly. The liquid was spreading a warmth through his entire body in a calming, numb sensation. It was likely something of the Doctor's own creation. It felt like the effect he had on most people.

Perhaps he had more of a chance of persuading the king than the Master had originally obliged to give him credit for… he would have to wait and see.


	5. The Master's Journal - Entry Seven

He's been watching me too closely.

Something is brewing in the Doctor's confounded mind and I can't rest with this feeling of being left in the dark. His TARDIS becomes a more claustrophobic and volatile environment with each passing day. It has been about seven days, and still he watches me like a hawk. What is he watching me for? Signs of improvement? He's only making me into a nervous wreck. Luckily, he seems less than keen on that fact, but still. What will it take before he puts on that irritating know-it-all grin of his, muttering his quiet little "check" with satisfaction? I know what will happen then. He'll wait some more, until I'm completely infuriated, and tack on "check and mate then" in his haughty little tone that spans between a hum and a chuckle.

I'm not sure how much more of his frustrating nature I can take.

I've been trying to ease his motives out of him, but it's proved unsuccessful. Who knew the day would come when _I _wanted the Doctor to speak _more_ and _he_ wanted to keep his mouth shut? I can hardly fathom it, even still. Ah, but I know him well enough to know how entirely stubborn he can be to evade any type of interrogation. Which, as per our usual arrangement, makes my goal impeded purely by the Doctor's childish vendetta to bar my way at every turn.

In particular...

No, that sounds like nonsense. Best to keep that to myself. Yes. There are many things which simply must remain unsaid.

To be truthful, odd as it may seem, I fear the Doctor's suspicions may run so high as to come across this. That would be most unfortunate if I were to disclose anything unnecessarily confusing such as that.

Poor old man, he is such a joy to stump.

But that is, perhaps, not a joke for today. I may toy with him in frivolous was as much as I like, but the tensions are already far too high. Being trapped inside his TARDIS is too close of quarters to have the fellow trailing after me even more than he already is.

Yes, best to leave well enough alone.

The Doctor's TARDIS is, indeed, still mostly incapacitated. What a buffoon he is with repairs, too. A late bloomer indeed! Everything he tries does one of three things: catches something on fire, backfires with smoke and sparks, or explodes entirely. In the more fun occasions, it becomes a combination of a few. Once, it was all three, and it was quite interesting to behold. He'll be washing charcoal from behind his ears for weeks to come. What a sensational idiot he is.

It is entirely frustrating, however, that he is so stubborn as to deny me any chance to assist him. The thing about idiots is they never seem to know that they are idiots. I could have this blasted thing up and running in a matter of hours, and in better condition than before.

Though it would be much better if I could simply get my hands on the key to my own TARDIS. But he'll have none of it. That ignoramus knows full well that I would just as quick get inside as leave him alone to deal with this mess. However, whether I could get out of here or not, I would just like to have some space to myself, where I wasn't constantly being monitored... I hate being stuck on a planet without a motive.

I feel far too exposed. Being inside the Doctor's TARDIS feels too... personal.

Besides, I can tell he's trying to keep an eye on my constantly. It's maddening. He's the most infuriating intelligent being I've come across in all of my travels through space and time. And he always finds me! I can never escape him, and that's now become a quite literal statement. I can barely get away to get this down. Blasted man. Can't he just leave me be?

I'm sure he thinks I'm back here, in some random room of his TARDIS that I have somehow managed to secure for writing, plotting his demise. Well, I'm entirely too frustrated to do so. I've tried thinking about it, to help me calm down, but nothing good as occurred to me.

Perhaps tomorrow, though. He and I have rather opposite sleeping schedules, and while I can't say that's entirely reassuring - knowing he's about and monitoring me as I sleep - I think he shares the discomfort in the reverse. He just simply seems to crash about the times that I feel most awake. It could prove a fatal arrangement, had I a way to go about it. Or it could be an opportunity to carefully retrieve the key to my TARDIS... that, at least, I would be satisfied with.

We will see.


End file.
